


The Safe Place

by BromeliadLucy



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: After being freed from Hydra, and escaping Zemo's attempts to control him, Bucky goes to stay with an old friend to recover.





	1. Chapter 1

This is their one safe place in the world that no one knows about, where they come alone, to be themselves – to be Steve or Clint or Natasha, not the Captain, the Hawkeye, the Widow. So when he turns up, in a battered pickup, cap pulled low, loose shirt trying to hide the body underneath, and he’s not alone, you know this is important.

You can’t make out who’s inside the truck when he gets out; the sun’s reflection on the windshield is obscuring all but the shape of someone inside. The passenger stays there as Steve gets out and walks towards you. You’d been alerted to the vehicle approaching when it was still a way off and been watching on the monitor. Other than the team, people didn’t come out here, too far off the beaten track to be found by accident. That was the deal, that was the dream; this was your safe place too. You recognised the truck though, and de-activated the security systems – you recognised Steve’s truck, the one he used when he was trying to avoid attention. When he came out here. So you weren’t afraid when the truck pulled up, and the noisy engine cut out, but wary, because there was never any mention of guests before.

Then he stood in front of you and said just one word – _Bucky_ – and you understood. But you were afraid, because Steve was talking of _just a couple of weeks _and _nobody will know_ and now the man had got out of the truck and it was all moving too fast.

‘What if they come for him?’

‘They won’t. That’s over now. But he needs space, to… remember.’ Bucky wasn’t moving, just standing by the truck, squinting slightly into the sun.

‘Remember what?’

‘How to… be. How to be himself. I’ve never asked for anything like this before, but… it’s Bucky.’

And that’s when you knew you’d say yes. Not that there was any other option really. Since Steve had set this up for you, four years ago, you’d felt you owed him an unpayable debt. This ‘farm’ that wasn’t really a farm, was bought and paid for, and in your name. You had a truck you could use to pick up groceries from a small town nearby; a dog, for company and reassurance; and the best surveillance and security setup Stark could provide. They said it was the least they could do after what Hydra had put you through; when they’d taken you, kept you, hurt you so much, to extract what they could about your role leading ops for the Avengers. You’d held out well, but you still woke up with nightmares that something you’d said would compromise the team, and their blood would be on your hands. So when they got you out, you knew you had to get out completely, get away. You couldn’t look at them in case you saw disappointment or anger at your failing, at letting them down. If you’d looked though, you’d have seen pity instead, worry for you, anger at what had been taken from you and all that was left. So they’d set you up here and you’d eventually found some pretence of peace. Peace in the distance from everyone, and peace in the knowledge you went nowhere without a loaded gun strapped to your thigh, even slept with it, a shelf outside the shower the furthest you’d go from it. It wasn’t to use against Hydra in case they came again, it was to use against yourself. Anything better than the thought of those dark cold rooms again.

Four years you’d been here, mostly alone. Sometimes one of the team would come out for a day, or a week, just for a break away from the city and the noise and the constant pressure of missions. They’d arrive, tightly wound, shoulders hunched, muscles tensed, and by the end of their visits, they’d be looser, softer, quicker to laugh. You’d gleefully tell them you were using them for their muscles, and they’d happily split logs, dig the ground, make repairs. Simple jobs that had no life-changing consequences. You all knew this was just make-believe for them, a few days playing house before heading back to war, but at least you were there to offer them something.

You nodded, and Steve turned, gestured to the still figure by the truck. He walked forward, climbed the steps of the farmhouse, looking unsure against the sun-bleached wood and long grass. You held the door open for them both and he walked through without meeting your eye.

As it always did, the house suddenly felt smaller, when it was filled with bodies. Your dog suddenly came bounding up the steps from wherever he’d been on the property, leaping with joy at the new company, licking at Steve’s face as he bends down to say hello. He was a big dog, wolf-like in appearance, but ridiculously soft-hearted. You couldn’t help smiling as he knocked Steve to the ground, paws on his shoulders, yipping with delight. 

‘Buck, you’d better come say hello, let him sniff you, so he knows you’re a friend’. You didn’t comment on the fact Bucky hadn’t been introduced to you yet. Bucky was standing just inside the door, head hanging low. His clothes looked worn and unwashed and although he was as tall and broad as Steve, there was something diminished about him, as if he was withdrawing into himself. His cheeks were hollow as if he hadn’t eaten well in a while. He looked at the dog anxiously, then stepped forward. The dog cocked his head and turned at the movement, a slight growl in his throat before Steve rubbed his ears.

‘This is Bucky, he’s a friend,’ he said, as Bucky slowly held his hand out, pulling off the glove that covered his right hand but leaving his left hand covered. You knew the story about that one. The dog stepped forward, sniffed at him, then started wagging his tail and running around Bucky’s legs with enthusiasm, stopping for a pet on occasion.

‘He’s a useless guard dog,’ you said, eyeing the dog with affection. Bucky’s eyes turned to yours now and he stood up from his crouch, hands tensing into fists.

‘Buck, this is my friend, I was telling you about,’ Steve said, introducing you. ‘You’ll be safe here, while we get everything sorted. You can rest a bit. Not too much though, she’ll have you planting carrots and chopping wood soon enough.’

You held your hand out and after a pause, he shook it.

‘Thanks, for letting me stay.’ His voice was rough as if he hadn’t spoken for a while. You could see Steve was holding himself together through sheer will, looking as if he wanted to break down, or rest here himself and let the world go on without him, but instead he was standing tall, and being extra cheery to make up for the gloom that emanated from Bucky.

‘Give me a hand to unload the truck?’ he said, heading back outside. They pulled boxes and bags out, dumping them in your tidy home and you could feel yourself getting overwhelmed with the sudden company and chaos.

‘Thought I’d better bring you some supplies, in case you didn’t have enough. Buck has an appetite like mine, sorry, so we didn’t want to eat you out of house and home.’ He hefted two of the boxes effortlessly into the kitchen – you could see eggs, ham, bread, poking out. Bucky picked up the other bag – presumably his clothes. Taking a deep breath in, you remembered that this house, in your name, was all down to the Avengers. You owed it to them to provide a welcome.

‘I’ll show you your room,’ you said, and led the way as Bucky followed, unspeaking, his footsteps barely making a sound on the stairs. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s disconcerting, just how quiet he is. You try not to imagine the next few weeks, if he stays this silent, insular figure, lurking on the periphery of every room you’re in, every move you make. You take him to his bedroom, and he stands in the doorway, watching as you gesture slightly pointlessly at the bathroom, the cupboard where he can find fresh towels.

Stepping back out into the corridor, you feel him recoil as you brush past him in the doorway. There’s pain there, distrust, anxiety. This isn’t someone who can be easily fixed by two weeks on a farm, but it’s all you can offer, and you have your own fears and nightmares to live with. He reaches through the doorway, heavy bag swinging, and lets it fall to the floor with a dull thud. It’s almost the first sound he’s made, as if he’s barely interacting with the house.

‘I’m just down the hall there,’ you gesture to a closed door a little way away, ‘but obviously the whole house is yours to use. Help yourself to food, books, TV, make yourself at home. I’ll show you around the land this afternoon if you like?’

Questions seem a good idea. Something that forced him to interact, rather than just listening passively. He nods, and meets your eye briefly, before looking away again. There’s a chill in your veins when he looks at you, and although you know Steve would never put you in harm’s way, your knowledge of the Winter Soldier flares in your mind. You knew more about him than you should, had followed the case as Steve had battled the UN to treat him as a victim, and not a war criminal, knew he’d been living in Wakanda for years. Now he could finally return home, if there was any semblance of home left for him – or any semblance of him left. Exonerated of all charges, but bearing the weight of his actions, you had the sense he’d rather have faced the full force of the law than be free. You’d read his files too – some while Steve was looking for him, and you were still part of the team and some you’d accessed illicitly from the farm since you left. They’d never removed your security access, so you could read whatever you wanted – you were sure it was Stark’s way of offering you a way back in, if and when you wanted it, a temptation perhaps – but mostly you didn’t want to know. Reading about Hydra only brought it all back. The musty smell of damp, unused basement rooms; the yellowing light from fading lightbulbs and grimy windows; the feel of wires digging into your wrists and ankles, cutting into your skin as you moved; the shock of a fist meeting your face, and the crack of bones. This was reality for the team, you’d always known it, but now it was part of your reality too.

He followed you back downstairs, to where Steve was putting the last of the shopping away in the kitchen.

‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said, truck keys already in his hand as he spoke. He bounced slightly on his feet with impatience and eagerness to be off, then in a swift movement, pulled Bucky in to his arms and hugged him. Bucky was slower to respond, but did, gripping on to the back of Steve’s shirt tightly, eyes buried in his shoulder.

‘Call me, Buck, any time. I’ll get things straight in New York, but enjoy the peace and quiet here, OK?’ He ducked his head, forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. ‘And don’t do anything stupid…’

‘I know, until you get back.’ It was a relief to see a smile break out on Bucky’s face, proof that there was humanity there still. He shoved Steve lightly, then followed him out onto the porch, with you close behind. Outside, Bucky sat on a bench by the door, letting the dog come and rest his head on his knee, rhythmically stroking his ears. You followed Steve down to the truck, wanting a moment to speak to him alone.

‘Do you need to go straight away? You can’t stay for lunch, help him settle in? Help make it less awkward?’ You smiled as you said this, but you were too used to being alone after all this time, and the thought of a stranger in your home was making your heart beat a little too fast. At least if Steve was there, there would be familiar conversations to ease things. You knew your face was showing too much, that you were one step from begging, but you couldn’t help it. Steve’s face twisted with guilt as he looked at you.

‘I can’t, I’m sorry. But I’ll come back as soon as I can. Since he landed back here, it’s been a free-for-all. Press conferences, demonstrations, interviews – sometimes I can’t even tell if they’re for or against him being back here – but I’ve gotta handle it, try and put a lid on all the crazy, so that he can get on with life. But for now, he just needs to be away from it all. He’s been living on a farm in Wakanda, so pitching him into New York with the mob was not going to help him any.’

‘And he needs help? I mean, of course he does, but specifically? I thought he was doing better, he was on his own in Romania, then in Wakanda, he’s fixed right?’

‘Yeah, technically, he’s fixed. There’s no Winter Soldier in there any more. But is he OK? Not so much. He was doing OK in Romania, sure, if you count living in fear, in a one-room, ready to run at all times as OK. But he was fine, you know, eating, taking care of himself, keeping track of memories… probably would have been good, if he’d got to stay there. But since Zemo re-awakened the Soldier, he’s lost all confidence in himself. Even though Shuri says there’s no trace of the programming, it’s like he’s afraid to start again, because it could all be taken away again.’

He paused for a moment, and his eyes flicked up to the house, to where Bucky was sitting.

‘Look, it’s obvious he’s got PTSD – that’s what Sam says it is anyway, it was shellshock back when I heard of it. No surprise, I looked it up and let’s be honest, we all do. I’m guessing you won’t tell me how _you’re_ doing, but you know what I mean.’ He would have looked relaxed to an outside observer, gazing off into a blue cloudless sky, leaning against his truck, but she was closer, could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, pockets stretching against hands that were balled into tight fists. He looked back at her. ‘He’s got 70 years of torture to process and it’s… not going great. Don’t worry; he’s no danger to you, but to himself?’ He looked up at the house again. ‘Flashbacks, nightmares, forgetting to eat, to shower, anxiety, trust issues, nausea… you name it, he’s got it.’

He must have seen your frown out of the corner of his eye.

‘I know, I’m putting a lot on you, I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate. I don’t want him out in Wakanda again, I’ve just got him back Stateside and I just can’t have him that far again, but he needs not to be where everyone’s shouting his name, arguing, there’s no chance to recover there. And he needs to be around people, not goats. And you’re good people.’ He gave her one of his smiles, but the edges were too sharp for her to be charmed.

‘I’m not turning him away. I just want to know what I’m dealing with. I’m no therapist Steve; I can’t even cure myself, so god knows what I can do for him. But I’ll make sure he eats, get him out in the air, keep him away from the news. I’ll do what I can. Just don’t leave us alone too long. It might not be that great for either of us.’

Steve nodded, and you leaned in to hug him goodbye. His heart sounded steadily where your ear rested on his chest and you let yourself be enveloped by his arms, allowing yourself a moment of closeness with someone else. That much, but no more. You’d learnt a lesson about trust the hard way.


	3. Chapter 3

You stepped back as Steve climbed into the truck, grabbing hold of the dog’s collar as he jumped enthusiastically, stopping him getting run over. The truck reversed, and a hand waved out of the window as it bumped off down the track. Taking a steadying breath, you turned, walked back towards the house.

‘Come on then boy, let’s go make friends.’

Bucky was still sitting on the bench, one hand resting on his knee now since the dog had moved away. Without the larger-than-life presence of Steve, now he sat, eyes lowered, and his still-gloved left hand was tensed in a fist. You felt a rush of pity for him and all he’d endured. Just a few weeks in Hydra’s hands had left you fearful and angry at the world; here he was after decades under the Hydra thumb and he was facing far less of the care and compassion you’d been given. You didn’t stay up to date with the news – out here the world seemed far enough away not to matter – but on your infrequent trips into town you’d seen newspaper headlines and photos full of angry, vicious faces, protesting at the pardon he’d received. You hoped that there had been another side to the story, and wished you knew more now. Still, at least here you could show him some kindness, let him know that not everyone wanted to see him punished.

You’d been standing there too long but it seemed both of you were used to long silences. Your dog was less willing to wait things out, and after sitting for a moment, leapt up and nudged against Bucky’s knee again, demanding more attention. He started to rub at the dog’s ears again.

‘He’s a soppy creature, Cosmo, but actually he can be pretty fierce, just not with people he trusts. He’s taken a shine to you, but he doesn’t to everyone. He knows good people from bad.’

There must have been something in your voice that showed you were speaking from experience. Bucky looked up, and met your eyes, a question in his look. While you answered, you were able to properly look at him for the first time. His eyes were hooded, sunken, as if he wasn’t sleeping. There were deep lines etched on his forehead, and his beard looked less intentional, more as if he couldn’t face taking care. His shoulders were still hunched, and you felt a pang in your heart, you’d seen this look on some of the other Avengers when they came here – you’d seen it in the mirror often enough too, when the nightmares got bad.

‘Not long after I moved here, there’s a guy lives on a farm a few miles over. Came over to see if it was true that there was a woman living out here alone, think he was maybe hoping to put some moves on me, well, up until he actually saw my face anyway. Quickly changed his mind after that. But he didn’t like the fact I didn’t want to listen to him telling me what I should do with the land, got a bit pushy, let’s say. I was OK, but Cosmo took against him.’ You looked down fondly at the dog, who was now lying on the floor, belly bared, wriggling his spine against the boards. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but when this idiot starts snarling, it’s pretty scary.’ You nudged Cosmo with your foot and watched his tongue loll dopily out of his mouth.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Bucky said, and you saw his face change for a moment as he smiled, before he looked back down at Cosmo, ruffling his fur. You silently blessed Cosmo for being what Bucky needed – a non-judgemental friend.

‘It’s late, are you hungry? I’m going to assume you always are, since Steve basically inhales food whenever I see him, so I’ll go make lunch. Do you cook?’

He obviously wasn’t expecting that. You’d been at the Tower long enough to know that there were teams of people dedicated to filling the fridges with food; whole kitchens set up to have whatever the team wanted, whenever they wanted it. Not here though. When you’d first settled here, you’d forced yourself to cook, each meal was a minor victory for self-care. Now it was a pleasure, and living on your own meant you could spend hours slowly preparing a meal, just for the joy of it. But you weren’t about to become a kitchen skivvy for anyone – if Bucky wanted to eat, he had to help. And more importantly, if he didn’t want to eat, you’d make sure he was involved.

‘Um, I mean, I guess. I can boil things anyway. That’s pretty much all we did when I was growing up.’

‘I’m gonna take that as a no then. You can chop.’ You pulled open the door, then paused, expectantly. Bucky looked up at you, and realised you were waiting. He pulled himself upright, and walked back into the house. As he walked past you in the doorway, you could feel him pull his arm in, heard him brush against the doorframe rather than risk touching you. You didn’t think he was doing it out of respect, but a fear of touch. At least he’d let Steve hug him, at least he had something.

In the kitchen, you set him to cutting vegetables, while you busied yourself in making bread with some dough you’d set to rise that morning, before you knew how this day was going to go. You watched Bucky out of the corner of your eye, saw him hesitate as he started to cut tomatoes, before pulling his glove off, carefully setting it down where it wouldn’t get messy. His hand flashed silvery like the knife blade as he moved, metal plates shifting. You made no comment as you reached past him, scraping the tomatoes into a bowl. His movements were careful, precise, but his shoulders remained hunched and you could feel the pretence he was putting on, that this was a normal life.

The smell of the bread rolls baking slowly spread through the kitchen, and you hoped that it might spark some appetite in him. You were torn between compassion and dread at the coming weeks. Company wasn’t something you were good at, but your heart wanted to fix this broken man, as it always did when any of the Avengers turned up.

‘OK, I think they’re done,’ you said, pulling open the oven, and looking around for a cloth to take the tray out. Cosmo had a habit of pulling them off the rack and dragging them god knows where, you often found them dumped in far corners of your plot. ‘Shit, where’s he put them now?’

Before you could reach into a drawer for a new cloth, an arm reached past you. You could feel the warmth of someone standing behind you, and very carefully, barely breathing, moved sideways to give Bucky some room, carefully not to touch him. His silver hand reflected the dying orange of the heat of the oven as he pulled the baking tray out.

‘I guess I’ll keep you around, then, if you can make yourself useful as an oven glove.’ You didn’t mean to be flippant, it was an awkward habit, but perhaps it was what was needed, tackling the elephant in the room head on. You saw a small smile quirk at the corners of Bucky’s mouth.

‘I’ll be sure to thank Hydra if I see them again,’ he said, setting down the tray on the countertop.

It was a start. Nothing was going to change with one stupid comment from you, long unused to company, but at least the barriers of formal politeness might start to recede. You both carried food over to the table, and sat to eat. You could see Bucky was being polite, helping himself to normal-person sized portions in silence.

‘I’m used to supersoldier levels of appetite, so please don’t starve yourself on my account. I’ve seen Steve out-eat a whale, don’t be polite.’ He looked up, caught your eye, and then quickly looked away as he reached for another roll. Putting the bread onto his plate, you watched as he slowly tore it into little pieces, very few pieces making their way into his mouth. What had Steve said? _Nausea, forgetting to eat…_ You cursed yourself silently as you realised that for all his appetite, he was living with anxiety, fear, dread on a level you couldn’t fathom. Still, you knew his body needed feeding, the serum running through calories at marathon levels. Steve had wanted you to look after him, so it was your duty to get him fed.

‘I’m going to be working outside this afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, but settle in first if you want. I’ll leave this food here, help yourself to whatever.’

He was like an animal you’d realised. Probably felt safer alone, so maybe if you left the table, he’d eat what he needed. You nodded to him as you stood, but the momentary camaraderie of the kitchen had passed and he wasn’t meeting your eye. You whistled for the dog, and set off. You weren’t lying, there was always work to do – the distraction of physical labour was something you appreciated, taking you out of your own dark thoughts.

Outside, you brought out your axe, ready to start splitting logs, knowing that winter was on its way. There had been frost on the ground the last few mornings already, although there was enough warmth left in the sun that once you’d got into a rhythm, you knew you’d warm up enough to shuck off your jacket. Stretching your arms for a moment before starting, you were startled by a voice behind you.

‘Can I help?’

You couldn’t help but jump, feeling guilty immediately as you saw a look of shame come over Bucky’s face.

‘Sorry, you startled me. Not used to having people out here I guess. But sure, I’d appreciate it. Steve always manages to get the wood done in half the time I do, and that’s when he’s going slow.’

You saw a small smile appear on his face as you handed over the axe. 

‘Make sure you tell Steve I was faster. Been living on my own farm the last few years, while he’s been getting soft in Stark’s tower.’

You let out a laugh, breath white on the chill air. It was good to see there was still the human side in there. You knew he’d done well in Wakanda, from the reports you’d seen. He just needed to be reminded that he could get there again, that what Zemo had restarted was gone now, thanks to Shuri.

He worked fast, splitting logs without any sign of fatigue or effort. You acted as dogsbody, carrying the split wood up to stack by the house, although you couldn’t keep up with his speed. 

‘Take a break, that’s enough for this winter, and probably next too.’ He looked up, eyes slightly glazed, and you got the feeling he’d fallen into a reverie as he worked. A good thing, he needed to get out of his head. ‘It’s going to start getting dark soon, I’ll get this last lot stacked, go on in.’

He shook his head slightly, and picked up an armload of wood – what to him was an armload anyway, putting your few pieces to shame. Between the two of you, you’d stacked all the wood up as twilight fell. Standing on the porch, you took a moment to stretch your back out, and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky flaming with orange light in one last burst. Cosmo appeared, always ready for a meal and knowing when one might be provided, and Bucky stood looking out at the sky too, hand resting on Cosmo’s head, peaceful together.

You quietly walked past them and went inside, bringing out two bottles of beer. Bucky was sitting on the porch step now, Cosmo patiently sitting beside him. You handed him a bottle.

‘I know it doesn’t affect you, but it’s a good ritual, I always think. A good bit of work, and then watch the stars come out with a bottle of beer. The stars are good here, clear, no light pollution.’ He didn’t respond, and you started to feel silly, offer platitudes to someone who’d seen what he’d seen, been through all he had, as he sat silently. ‘Sorry, ignore me. Just an old woman who’s lived on her own too long.’ You turned, started walking back inside, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

‘No, sorry, I- I was just thinking… this is what I liked to do in Wakanda. The sky there is so clear, at night if I couldn’t sleep, I’d just lay out in the grass, look up… felt like you were falling into space, there was nothing for miles around. Peaceful.’ He looked up now, at where you’d paused as he spoke. ‘Last few months it’s been the Hague, New York, just bright lights and noise and cells and buildings and… this is good. Thanks,’ he added, tilting his beer bottle towards you. 

You took it as a cue, sat down on the step near him, a safe distance helped by the presence of the dog. You stared off into the sky too. This was your favourite time of day. Body tired from hard work, but the terrors in the dark hadn’t come yet. You tilted back your head, drank some beer, lost in your thoughts.

‘Thanks,’ his face was lost in the darkness now. Perhaps that was easier. ‘For being so gracious about this, about me being dumped on you. Steve didn’t really give me a choice, and I guess he didn’t give you one either… I’ll keep out of your way, but it’s nice here. Thanks, for making it as un-awkward as this situation can be.’

You let the silence fall again for a moment before replying, listened to the wind rustling the grass, the last calls of birds heading to their nests, the sounds of the evening wrapping the house in the dark.

‘I don’t know what Steve’s told you about this place, but they all come here at times. When the world gets too heavy, they come out here, get away from it all. I’m glad it’s here for you too, to find some peace.’

Silence fell again, for just a moment, before he spoke.

‘You’re going to make me work so damn hard for that peace aren’t you?’ The dog’s ears pricked up at the unexpected sound of laughter in the night from them both.


End file.
